


Betrayed

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-08
Updated: 2004-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo first-person POV during movie-verse arguments with Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Don't you know who you sound like?!"

Oh, Sam. If only you would seriously consider what you're saying! You yourself are comparing me with Gollum, a creature you despise.

The sad truth is, you're right. I *am* beginning to sound like Gollum, and that frightens me. My biggest fear, aside from Sauron regaining the Ring of course, is that we'll come to the end of our journey and I won't be able to cast It away willingly, won't be able to complete my task. It grows heavier, both physically and in its weight on my mind and resistance, and Its whispers become louder, more insistent, more compelling.

That night in the marshes, when I heard Gollum giving voice to my subconscious thoughts, made me realize we are much akin, he and I. Now even you recognize it in spite of yourself. I pitied Smeagol even before that, and not just because of Gandalf's words. It was obvious he has suffered much to be so changed from what he had been. He was not so different from a hobbit once, though that is not as obvious now.

When I called him by his former name, it took him by surprise. His guard dropped, and I could see the struggle in his eyes. Our gazes met, ever so briefly, and in that instant we understood one another. I saw the influence of the Ring on him, and his resistance to It; his torture at the hands of the orcs in Mordor, and the longing to be free from his soul's slavery to the Ring.

I understood just how deeply the Ring has wormed itself into his heart and mind. Yet I also saw there is yet a part of him unconquered, a portion however small that is still Smeagol. At that moment I resolved to do whatever I could to help Smeagol win over Gollum.

I know you don't -or won't- see the good in him, but I know it's there. He seems genuinely concerned for my welfare, and while I realize that's because I'm the 'master of the Precious', the concern is still there. Given time and encouragement, I believe Smeagol can come back, can become dominant over Gollum. I *have* to believe he can come back, or there's no hope for me. It isn't really a matter of *who* saves him, just that he *is* saved. But because of our circumstances, it will have to be me, since you are unwilling. You have many admirable qualities, Samwise, but compassion for Gollum -as you insist on calling him- is not one of them. Our conversation -no, argument- makes that painfully obvious. But why will you not trust me? Why will you not back down? I know what I'm doing.

Yes, I *know* I sound like him, and that is the point! We are the same. In your attacks on him, you are also attacking me.

For I see in myself the same struggle. I am no longer fully myself, but I am not yet fully enslaved to the Ring. It is a struggle I fear I am losing. No, I *know* I am losing. And while I know you are here to help me with my burden, you are not helping in my struggle. I have long been frustrated by some of your actions, constantly badgering me to eat and sleep when I want to just be left alone.

But it is your insistence on seeing him as entirely bad that puts me over the edge. He is *not* completely bad! Your persistence in calling him names, putting him down, makes him think that's all he *can* be. With one word, you can- and do- destroy what trust I managed to build in him over several hours. If only you would open your blind eyes and see what I'm trying to do! You're certainly living up to your name, Samwise. Simpleton. Half-wit. You make me understand what could've driven Smeagol to kill Deagol, his cousin and 'friend.' You could easily overpower me if I tried anything, but perhaps . . .

Wait.

What am I *thinking*?! You truly do mean well, you just *can't* understand. You've never had the Ring turning you against yourself. It's not something I would wish on anyone, even the Sackville-Bagginses. But it's also something I can't undo. I took this upon myself and I will never be the same. Now it's just a question of how long I can hold the Ring in check. Your treatment of Smeagol does make me wonder how you will see me, how you will treat me, as I visibly fall further under the Ring's influence and my likeness with Gollum becomes undeniable even to you.

The Ring already tries to make me view you with suspicion and mistrust; will those reactions be warranted by the end?

No . . . I'm not giving you the credit you deserve. You proclaimed at the Council "he's not goin' anywhere without me!" and if I've learned anything about you thus far, it's that you keep your word no matter what. In seeing me become Gollum in my own way, perhaps you will begin to understand why I pity him.

Yes, precious; perhaps . . .


	2. Chapter 2

I am rudely awakened from the first real sleep I've had in I don't know how long by you roughly shaking me. "I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo. We have to be movin' on."

I push myself reluctantly up with the only reply I could find in my muddled head. "It's dark still."

"It's always dark here," you remind me testily. Yes, but that's not the point. You used to be so good at knowing what I really meant, whether or not I said it that way... what happened?

The sound of frantic shuffling got my attention, along with your cry of distress. "It's gone." I am still working on getting up -the stiffness of sleeping on rock makes me slow- but I pause to look over at you, uncomprehending. You explain with disbelief: "The Elven bread."

"What? That's all we have left." My empty stomach drops as I realize this means no food until...

But your attention is turned elsewhere. "He took it! He must have!" you accuse Smeagol and both of you turn to look at me, like a pair of quarreling children.

"Smeagol? No, no, not poor Smeagol. Smeagol hates nasty elf bread."

I can't decide who to believe as I stare at both of you, your expression bordering on desperation, Smeagol's exuding assurance.

"You're a lyin' rat!" you break in, "What did you do with it?!"

I am tired, tired of this constant bickering between you and Smeagol, tired of you endlessly accusing him. "He doesn't eat it," I say in his defense, anger giving me the strength to finally stand. "He can't have taken it." So help me, whatever it takes to make you stop abusing him, I'll do it.

"Look," Smeagol says, drawing attention to your clothing, "What's this? Crumbs on his jacketses. He took it! *He* took it." He repeats his assertion with more force, and adds, "I seen him. He's always stuffing his face when Master's not looking."

I look at you in disgust. How could you? How could you betray us, betray our journey like this? How could you betray me? You, of course, deny it and again start attacking him, knocking him to the ground, beating him with all your strength.

I have seen quite enough. I call your name, trying to get you to stop, for your rage terrifies me, but you do not hear. Mustering up my strength, I throw myself at you, pushing you away from Smeagol. Even as I cry, "Sam! No!" I realize the effort was too much.

You are instantly concerned, your words tripping over themselves. "Oh, my- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to go so far. I was just so- so angry. Here, just -let's just rest a bit."

"I'm all right," I assure you, wanting nothing more than for you to keep your tongue to yourself and stop this foolishness. Smeagol is in the same fix we are, so there's no point in driving him away when we need his help. But it seems you don't know when to be quiet.

"No. No, you're not all right. You're exhausted. It's that Gollum. It's this place. It's that thing around your neck!" I stiffen as you mention that which should not be mentioned. I drag my eyes up to look at you with suspicion and distrust. Why are you bringing this up now?

Your voice echoes dully in my head as you say, "I could help a bit. I could carry it for a while. Share the load..."

How dare you even think of taking it from me? It's mine. "Get away!" I shove you back, and you fall, more from surprise than any strength in my push.

"I don't want to keep it," you hurry to assure me. "I just want to 'elp."

But it is too late for such words, if ever there was a time for them at all. And now I finally see you for the foul little greedy creature you are, leering and pawing at my treasure. Smeagol even sees that. But you shall not have it!

I quell your further protests against Smeagol with "No, Sam. It's you." You look at me with confusion, and I feel I must at least briefly apologize. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"But he's a liar," you whine. "He's poisoned you against me."

I'm done with you, Sam. Done with your meddling, your accusations... done with you. "You can't help me anymore."

"You don't mean that."

But I do. "Go home, Sam." Leave me. Let me be.

I turn on my heel, stride past your sobbing huddle, and continue my journey. I can't bring myself to care what happens to you after this.


End file.
